


can't face the dark without you

by Shadowstar



Series: The Other Side of the Rainbow [6]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Conversations, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8560351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowstar/pseuds/Shadowstar
Summary: It's all starting to come together. Stiles is making portals, and Zatanna is sure the teenager will be going home, soon. She isn't surprised that he's done so well. What is a surprise is the amount of people who have suddenly decided they want to go with Stiles back to Beacon Hills.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, part 6!! Second to last piece before Stiles is home in Beacon Hills. Not my best work, I don't think, but this was a piece that gave me some trouble writing it. This will also be the last part that's posted so quickly; I just started a new job, so new parts will be a little slower in coming, too. Hope you guys enjoy this part in Zatanna's POV; the next will primarily be in Stiles's, as well as with some little bits in others'.  
> As always, it's **unbeta’d** ; please send any concrit or noticed mistakes to my inbox. Plz and thx.
> 
> Title of this part is from _Without You_ by Breaking Benjamin:  
>  "Sing something new  
> I have nothing left  
>  **I can't face the dark without you**  
>  There's nothing left to lose  
> The fight never ends  
> I can't face the dark without you"

It only takes a few days for Stiles to become proficient in creating portals to locations in and around National City. It takes him only another day to create one all the way to Smallville, which has Clark more than a little delighted when he peers through the other side at them. Every day, Stiles grows stronger, and she can’t help but be entirely, completely, _wholly_ proud of him. He is making leaps and bounds with his magick, and his power is growing with his determination. 

Each time he makes a leap, she will ask afterwards what the push was. Always, his answer is to shrug a little sheepishly and say, simply, “My friends.” She knows, _knows_ it’s more than that. But she won’t pry, has already told herself to take a step back, to remember that their time together is coming to an end.

At least, it was. _Was_ , because, well.

Kara is sitting across from her, adjusting the silly thick glasses with their leaded lenses on her face, nervous and eager and so very much like a younger, brasher Clark it’s _painful_. The young woman is dressed for work, apparently having come over on a lunch hour to be able to talk to her. And they have, sort of. For the past five minutes they’ve danced around the real reason Kara is sitting here with her, and when they finally run out of small-talk subjects they can safely discuss, Kara lifts her chin, a determined set to her jaw.

“Why does Stiles have to be the one to create the portal in the first place?” Kara asks her, a not-so-subtle segue and she knows it, but it still has her breathing out a slightly annoyed sigh.

“Because he is the one who’s _from_ that dimension. So, his body and magick vibrate at the frequency required to safely get him back. Theoretically, I could do it, but it is well and truly _much_ easier for him to do it himself,” she explains, watching Kara’s face. Watching as the understanding passes through her eyes, her brow furrowing as she realizes something, a frown pulling the corners of her mouth down.

“So… So if, say, someone wanted to go _with him_ …” Kara hesitates, words jerky and unsure, eyes looking anywhere but at her.

And, _hell_.

The groan that escapes her is long-suffering, and the sound of her forehead meeting the table echoes through the uncrowded cantina. It does cause her tea to slosh over the edges of the Styrofoam cup, but the tea has long since cooled and doesn’t hurt when a little bit splashes her cheek.

“That is such a horribly bad idea, I can’t _even_ begin to explain it to you,” she groaned out, insistence strong in her tone. But despite the disheartened look on Kara’s face, the superhero still looks _determined_.

“But you should. Because I think… I think that Stiles will need help when he gets home,” Kara insists, determination in every line, almost like it’s her own version of the damn goofy stance that Clark takes. And it _is_ goofy and Clark _knows_ it and he _does it anyway_ complete with a _straight fucking face_.

Apparently, it’s an El trait.

“And what, exactly, are you going to do when you get bitten by a feral werewolf and get killed, huh?” she snaps, a snide twist to her lips that makes Kara jerk in surprise, eyes going wide and staring at her openly. “Because Stiles lives around _magick_ , Kara. And Kryptonians are horribly, _horribly_ vulnerable to magick.”

If anything, this only makes Kara more determined.

“All the more reason we should go with him and help him get things settled. You, of all people, know what’s there. And… And I mean, I haven’t talked to him explicitly about it, but if his nightmares are anything to go by…” The blonde shuts her eyes and shudders, hands twisting around themselves on the table for a moment. Then, Kara is reaching out, taking her hand, wrapping sun-warmed fingers all around her wrist, holding tight. “We have to help. He doesn’t _have_ superheroes, and I’d feel absolutely _awful_ if he… I mean, we have to do _something_.”

Kara is so, so earnest. So open and honest in the want to help, so much like her cousin. It’s causing her to grit her teeth, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The kind of feeling that tells her eventually, no matter what, she’s going to give in to it.

Doesn’t mean she has to _like_ it.

“You realize that I’ll have to go, as well?” she sighs, shoulders turning inwards in a hunch, scowling down into her cold tea.

“The more the merrier,” Kara enthuses, smile blinding in its brightness; bright like the sunshine that soaks into the young woman’s skin and makes her a superhero.

“I’m going to regret this,” she groans under her breath as Kara goes off, enthusiasm carrying her away.

And if she smiles a little, well. That’s _her_ business, thankyouverymuch.

*=*-*=*

Of all the people to approach her next, she isn’t expecting Alex Danvers. Especially when, apparently, the woman isn’t coming to signup, herself.

“I understand that some of you, including my sister, are going to be going with Stiles,” Alex informs her, falling into step beside her as she makes her way through the building and back towards the training room.

“So far, it’s _only_ your sister and me,” she agrees with a shrug, stuffing her hands in her pockets, coming to an easy stop to be able to see the woman’s face. Alex takes another few steps before stopping, as well, turning and looking at her with crossed arms. Defensive, like she’s going to refuse whatever it is Alex is going to say.

Fat chance of that happening; if she says no to Alex, she’s going to have to deal with J’Onn, and she knows it. And long-suffering J’Onn putting forth an effort for his Earth daughters is not someone who she particularly _likes_ dealing with. If there is _anyone_ in the universe with more lethal puppy dog eyes, she hasn’t found them.

“I have four volunteers who would like to go with you, as well. And I happen to agree; Stewart, Bertinelli, and Whitmore are all some of my best strike team agents, and Hale is a _damn_ good medic with combat training.” The names that are given have her raising her eyebrows at Alex. She’s familiar with all four names, of course; Stiles has mentioned them, dropping the names eagerly like they should _mean_ something to her. Every time, he seems a little more disappointed and a little more frustrated with her.

It would be more amusing if it didn’t also distract him from creating portals.

“Alright,” she agrees, nodding sharply, taking in the way her agreement makes Alex relax. She holds up a hand, though, stalling Alex from being _too_ comfortable with her decision. And, wait, when had _she_ become the leader of this expedition? _Christ_. “But on the condition that they come and ask me themselves. I want to hear their reasons for going with, especially considering the danger.”

Alex nods solemnly, understanding in her brown eyes. It doesn’t take more than a moment before she is alone in the hallway, staring after Alex’s ramrod-straight back, determination in every line of the woman’s body. She wonders, too, why Alex hadn’t asked to go herself.

She shakes off the questions and continues down the hall toward the training room, intent on pushing Stiles to see if he could create a portal to Gotham today.

*=*-*=*

Once again, her tea is sloshing all over the place, but this time it is fresh and hot, and it’s because she ran into someone rather than causing the spill through transferred force.

“Sorry,” the blonde tells her, reaching out and helping to steady her. Offering napkins, too, from the dispenser on the condiment cart, to which she takes them with a sigh, setting her tea aside with a slightly mournful look, more than sure that she is probably not going to get to drink it hot.

“I suppose this was only partially on accident,” she sighs, motioning to the spilled tea that she cleans off her hands and shirt.

“Partially; I didn’t mean to _literally_ run into you,” the blonde agrees with an easy shrug and a broad grin that is just _this_ side of too much teeth.

“That means that you’re one of the idiots who wants to go with Stiles,” she points out, tossing the napkins and crossing her arms over her chest. The other young woman—barely that, if her guess is any good—straightens in response, falling into a resting stance of a soldier, chin slightly lifted.

“I am. But I wouldn’t call us _idiots_ ,” she points out, words clipped and brown eyes steady on her face.

“We’re planning on going into a dimension where _werewolves_ are real, and where Stiles is a part of a pack of them. We’re going to be travelling into what is, in military terms, _actively hostile_ territory. How is that not idiotic?” Really, the question isn’t just aimed at the blonde; why had she agreed to Kara to do this in the first place? Oh, right. Because she _likes_ the damn teenager. He’s gotten under her skin, has burrowed into the part of her that she has labelled for family, and she wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —just let him go back into that alone without knowing that he was going back to someplace that wasn’t _entirely_ trying to kill him anymore.

“It is idiotic. But it’s idiotic not to go with the numbers to make sure that no one gets hurt,” is the blonde’s return, and, okay. At least that _sort_ of made sense.

“What’s your name?” she has to ask, head cocked to the side, wondering.

“Courtney,” the woman replies, not bothering to offer her hand, still standing in parade rest.

“Alright, Courtney. So, what you said makes sense. But there’s just one thing that doesn’t add up,” she tells the younger woman, stepping in close, not caring that she has to crane her head back to be able to continue to look into the closed-off brown eyes above her.

“What’s that?” comes the return, almost _daring_ her to ask. No, no almost about it. Courtney wants her to ask the why of it. And she is; but she’s not going to ask the why that she thinks Courtney will be expecting.

“Why are you so invested in Stiles?” It’s definitely a valid question, especially since this particular mission could very be considered bordering on suicidal. Of course, with both her and Kara there, it was _less_ likely to be suicidal. And any other help made it that much less likely that they were all going to die horribly. But it was the investment in Stiles, the silent but definitely _there_ thrum of the connection that has her asking, wanting to know.

And, of course, as predicted, she’d caught Courtney off guard with her question. The mask of the perfect blank soldier breaks and brown eyes blink down at her, unsure and suddenly _so young_ that it makes her chest ache. Makes her want to tell the young woman _hell fucking no_ , makes her want to send Courtney on her way. But just like with Kara, there is bone-deep determination, and like then, it makes her want to groan piteously. What the _hell_.

“Because I see myself in him,” is what Courtney tells her, and it’s not completely true. There’s more to the answer, more to the underlying reason, more to that _connection_ that she feels in the pit of her stomach. But she doesn’t want to dig, doesn’t want to pry; it’s not her business. If Courtney wanted to tell her, the young woman would. Overall, it has nothing to do with the current state of things, anyway.

“Alright,” she finally sighs, shaking her head. “Make sure to be ready to go at a moment’s notice; I want to practice portals with him a little bit more, try and get him to be able to control his power better, before we leave. But it could be days, or hours. The kid is powerful, and he’s continually surprising me.”

A small, secretive smile appears on the young woman’s face. But Courtney doesn’t say anything further, simply giving her a sharp nod of understanding before turning and disappearing into the crowd of the cantina.

With a confused sigh, brow furrowed in thought, she turns and leaves the cantina, fully intent on taking her mind off bizarre conversations with bizarre people. She’s halfway down to the training room, in the elevator no less, when she remembers her damn tea, still sitting on the condiment cart where she’d set it.

 _Dammit_.

*=*-*=*

Four hours later, and she is most definitely _still_ not in a particularly good mood. Her tea had been wasted, she was about at her wits end with various DEO agents, and Stiles had gone quiet in training. Now, for anyone else, she wouldn’t be particularly worried. Silence meant contemplation, inner thinking, concentration. But that wasn’t _Stiles_. Stiles was loud and moved loudly, his very essence warm and bright if sometimes a little subdued. But this was beyond that. This was worse than the homesickness she’s had to help stave off on several different occasions.

“Alright, what’s the matter?” she finally demands when the portal Stiles was working on closes on itself with his inattention.

There is a long, long moment of silence, long enough that she starts to wonder if he’s going to answer. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d done that, that he would sigh heavily and then just shuffle off to brood. If brooding was a thing that Stiles did. Either way, he doesn’t seem like he wants to particularly answer. Then, of course, he surprises her, his gaze settling on her, dark and tired and just as she’d thought, homesick. But, as she’d thought on more than one occasion, with a distinct leaning towards not wanting this “vacation” to end.

“I’m going to be leaving in a matter of days,” he finally sighs, letting his hands fall limply to his sides, his shoulders bowed under an invisible weight. The weight of responsibilities that she knows weigh heavily on him, for all that he isn’t even 18 years old yet. Still technically a kid, all things considered.

But she knows better than anyone what death and destruction and bloodshed will do to one’s childhood.

“It’s not a _bad_ thing, Stiles,” she reminds softly, gently, almost carefully. More than anything, she’s just unsure of what else she can say in this instance.

“I know,” he agrees softly, for all that his tone says that he really _doesn’t_ agree. “I just… I like everyone here. I like the friends I’ve made. I.” He stops, there, already thin lips pressing into a white, thin line on his face. It tugs and tightens at her heart to see how upset he’s becoming over this.

But she knows what it was that he’d meant.

“You like the fact that you’re not running for your life every five minutes,” she agrees with a soft sigh, moving closer to him. When he doesn’t move away, she presses her hand to his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, offering comfort. “It’s okay, Stiles.”

“No, it’s really not. I feel like I’m betraying my friends by wanting to stay, by not wanting to be bate or possible werewolf chow or whatever the fuck is chasing us this week’s latest snack. I… I’ve gotten used to _not_ running. How the _hell_ do I go back to that?” His voice rises and falls mournfully as he talks, until finally when he’s nearly yelling the question out, voice cracking on the last syllable.

“You put on your metaphorical cape and do your damn job,” comes the voice from the doorway, startling both teacher and pupil, making them both turn. The dark haired woman standing at the top of the stairs is dressed in scrubs, dark circles under her narrowed eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

Stiles gapes at the nurse while she looks between the woman and her apprentice. Wondering, more than anything, what the nurse’s words were doing to that brilliant, unfocused mind laying behind amber-colored eyes.

“I’m not even a _hero_ ; I’m a _sidekick_ ,” Stiles finally manages to protest, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. The movement of his arms and shoulders causes her hand to fall from his shoulder, and she finds herself stepping back to watch, to observe, as Nurse Hale hops down the stairs and closer to Stiles.

“Bullshit, kiddo. If you’re just a sidekick, then _I’m_ Superman,” Nurse Hale informs him dryly, arms still crossed over her chest, coming to a stop with a few feet between them.

Both of them turn towards her at her unladylike snort that quickly turns into a cough so that the two of them will go back to ignoring her presence. Luckily, before she even coughs, it seems like they’re back at it.

“Yeah, I don’t think you could fill out the whole package,” Stiles snarks, something altogether _dirty_ in his smirk.

A multitude of expressions cross Nurse Hale’s face, chief amongst them being complete disgust. Finally, she settles for smirking back, hazel green eyes sharp.

“How do _you_ know so much about Superman’s package?” The question has just as much snark in it as Stiles’s had, and it has a similar effect as a result.

Mostly, it just turns the teen bright red, with his mouth hanging open, little sounds of protest falling out of him.

“Buh-you. _You_. No, nope, just. _No_.” He manages to eventually find words again, but all it does is make Nurse Hale laugh, deep and throaty and long, her head thrown back with honest amusement. Watching Nurse Hale laugh, she would swear she sees something almost like heartbreak pass over Stiles’s face. But before she can say anything, he’s scowling and tapping his foot at the older woman, _glaring_ at her. Finally, though, the woman seems to get herself under control.

“Sorry, Stiles,” Hale tells him, clearly not even sorry in the slightest. His scowl deepens, but there’s something softer about his eyes, something that relaxes the tightness in her chest considerably. It also has Hale relaxing, too.

“You’re going to be fine, Stiles,” Hale tells him, reaching out and grabbing his hand between both of hers. The expression on his face shifts, and not for the first time she’s reminded that he is so very, very young. Hale seems to catch it, too, because she’s rather suddenly pulling him into a tight hug. “I’ll make sure of it; you’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Then, of course, he stiffens and jerks back from her, staring at her with wide, almost frightened eyes. His lips are parted in disbelief, fear etched into every line of his face.

“ _No_ ,” he growls, the sound of the single word final as it rings through the training room.

Of course, Hale is completely unimpressed. Her hazel eyes are narrowed in a glare, lips pressed into a thin line that is a warning. There is also a tick in the woman’s jaw that she is rather impressed by, that she’s seen occasionally in Clark’s jaw when he’s _really_ upset.

“Oh, yes, little man. I am. I am going to make sure that your ass doesn’t _die_ before your 20 th birthday,” Hale returns with a low growl, before she’s grinning with way, way too much teeth. More than a little bit like Courtney, now that she’s thinking about it, and isn’t _that_ a terrifying thought. Apparently, the DEO likes to hire truly scary women who look more than a little manic, perhaps even something close to being _feral_. It’s scary, either way.

“You’ll _die_ ,” Stiles protests, almost panicked at the thought, wide eyes imploring with the older woman. At the look, Hale releases his hand to frame his face, looking him dead in the eye.

“I have every chance of dying here that I do there, Stiles.  I promise, it’ll be okay. _I_ will be okay.” Her voice is earnest, pushing and prodding him to listen. Making _her_ listen, too, and she is. She listens to Hale make her arguments. And, more than anything, she wants to ask the question that Courtney never answered her, not properly. But Stiles is present, and she doesn’t think that Hale will answer her correctly with the teenager present.

“Okay,” he whispers in turn, his head tucking downwards like a small child, eyes closing and a frown on his face. Once again, his shoulders are slumped, heavy with the weight of the world laying across them. It once again makes her chest ache, and when she catches Hale’s eyes, she knows that she isn’t the only one feeling it. But there is determination between them, resting there in the quiet, one that she knows is shared by both of the other women who have approached her about coming along already.

*=*-*=*

The last two to approach her do so together, dark eyes solemn as they drop down onto the bench across the table from her in the cantina. She sighs softly as she lets her spoon drop back into her soup.

The dark skinned man opens his mouth to speak, but she holds up her hand waving the words away.

“Don’t. It’s fine,” she sighs, pushing her bowl aside and leaning against the table tiredly.

Both of them blink at her, gaping for a moment, before glancing at each other. It is the slimmer female who speaks, slow and careful, brown eyes studying her closely.

“You’re not going to ask why we want to go? Or why we have such an interest in Stiles?” she asks carefully, as though parsing the words is the most important event of her life, thus far. Some part of her thinks that that may not be all that far off the mark.

“Nope,” she declares in turn, shrugging tiredly. This whole _thing_ is making her tired. Stiles is almost ready to create the portal, it’s only a day or so away, she _knows_ it. Trying to get people to stop playing hero is like, apparently, pulling wisdom teeth. “I will ask your names, though. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

“I’m Helena, this is John. Miss Danvers said she’d mentioned us to you already,” is the woman’s response, straightening seemingly automatically at the mention of the second in command of the DEO.

“Good. Great. Be ready to go at a moment’s notice, and you’re all set,” she tells them, reaching to draw her soup back towards her. But she’s stopped by John’s hand on her arm, warm and gentle against her skin. His touch is almost like an electric shock, green sparks dancing across her skin and causing both to jerk in surprise. Her eyes narrow at him, and it takes a great deal not to huff at him and scold him like she would Clark. “Please tell me that Director Henshaw at least knows.”

The young man—John—gapes at her, before his teeth click shut and his lips press into a thin line. This time, she really _does_ huff at him, rolling her eyes.

“I know both Hal and Guy. Don’t _even_ try that with me,” she tells him, standing. “But if you’re going, you might want to pack a spare battery.” She walks away before she says something she might regret. Or, rather, before she _does_ something that she’ll regret.

*=*-*=*

Standing on the roof overlooking the darkened city, she can see the draw of this as a place to think. Despite the light pollution from the buildings and streets below, she can still see the stars clearly, a genuine miracle and one that gives her some hope. Looking at the stars _always_ gives her hope, steals her breath, and reminds her that the universe is so much bigger than what she sees in front of her with her own two eyes. It makes her feel small, but privileged.

“I’ve never known you to stare at the stars like that,” comes Clark’s voice behind her, the soft sound of displaced air and the crunching of gravel telling her that he’s landed and is walking towards her.

“It’s not every night that I need to breathe after the day I’ve had,” she shoots back, not looking at him, closing her eyes as the wind rushes past her. It stings her skin, cold and harsh and warning of the coming cold of the winter months. Well, relatively cold; being in Southern California on the _coast_ means it doesn’t get all that cold near the ground. But up here, above the hustle and bustle on the pavement, where heroes dare to fly, it’s _cool_ , almost cold.

It’s _refreshing._

“It can’t have been _that_ bad; the building is still in one piece,” Clark points out, meaning to be teasing, but it only makes her sigh heavily.

“No, but I have five volunteers who are looking to go on a suicide mission,” she tells him, voice rough. “And I have _no way_ to talk them out of it.”

The silence between them is heavy, his presence beside her warm and comforting. But it does nothing to actually soothe her own fears; she agreed with Stiles, none of them should go, it could get them all _killed_. None of them, even _her_ , were prepared for the magick and other such issues from his universe. But it didn’t look like there was any way to actually _say_ that without getting her head bitten off.

“Well. I can’t exactly talk for anyone else, but I imagine it has everything to do with helping Stiles,” he points out, gently nudging at her shoulder with his bicep. Barely even makes her move with as gentle as the gesture is, but the brief touch of comfort is still so _welcome_.

Then, of course, his words hit her.

“Not you, _too_ ,” she groans out the words, hating how they’re bordering on a whine, but unable to help herself. Of everyone, she wants him to go the least; he is her friend, old and familiar and as woven into the fabric of who she is as her father. _Family_. Someone who has helped shaped who she is as an at least _slightly_ functioning adult.

“Zatanna, he needs our help. We can’t just send him _back_ there, not like this. Not without knowing that he’s going to be safe,” he insists, pleading with her. Turning her towards him and pressing two sun-warmed hands to the balls of her shoulders, always so, so gentle in his touch and hold.

“I _know_ that, Clark, but I don’t want to go in there blindly, either!” She yells back, gripping his biceps, digging her fingers in uselessly. The muscles don’t even move beneath her fingertips, once again reminding her that this is no normal man; Clark is something _Other_. It doesn’t exactly ease her worries, either. “God, you and Kara—you two could be bitten and _killed_ , Clark. His Earth is rampant with wild magick, and I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to protect you from it!”

His eyes soften, even while his jaw and mouth firm, determination in every line of his broad shoulders as he hugs her.

“Your job isn’t to protect us from ourselves, Zatanna. You should _know_ that by now,” he chides gently before moving back a little bit. This man who is like her brother is giving her _that look_ again, the one that tells her that he thinks she’s being silly, and that there is only one outcome for this particular argument.

“No, but I won’t even be able to protect you from anything else, either,” she sighs, defeated, sagging. Knowing, without a doubt, no matter _what_ she says, he’s coming along for this rollercoaster ride of utter madness. A ride that she’s terrified not everyone will return from.

“It’ll be okay,” he repeats with a sigh, clearly understanding that she won’t really believe them until they’re all back where they all belong, all in their rightful universes, leaving them to be able to get on with the rest of their lives.

“It’ll be okay.” The words are on repeat, falling from his lips in what is supposed to be reassurance. But they’re not sticking to her psyche, not yet.

Only time would tell whether or not she could oust herself as a proper pessimist or not.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://pinkybitesu.tumblr.com).


End file.
